


Let Me Take Your Coat and This Weight off of Your Shoulders

by Hamalama



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Like, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Pre-Time Skip, Slow Burn, Soft Hatake Kakashi, Soft Umino Iruka, bed sharing, holy shit, probably some oocness tbh, sorta - Freeform, the canon divergence is light tho, this is the most self-indulgent thing i have ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26809990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hamalama/pseuds/Hamalama
Summary: Iruka invites Kakashi over for dinner. This has some unexpected consequences.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka
Comments: 24
Kudos: 271





	Let Me Take Your Coat and This Weight off of Your Shoulders

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Underneath your family tree](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22125097) by [deepestbluest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestbluest/pseuds/deepestbluest). 



> me when I had this idea: i'm gonna write 3k words at the most. it'll be cute and fun little drabble :)  
> my word count a couple days later: :)  
> word count: 16k+  
> me: bruh

It was late evening, Iruka’s shift at the mission desk nearing its end, when Naruto burst into the room, followed by a more sedate Kakashi. Seeing Naruto, loud and boisterous, had always made him happy, lit in him a spark of energy in response, but lately, Naruto’s temperament had a different tinge to it—a happiness, a contentedness—that had replaced the taint of desperation and it warmed Iruka to his core. And Iruka knew that the man loping along behind the boy had had a hand in his newfound joy.

“Iruka-sensei!” Naruto bounded right up the edge of the desk, the wide smile on his face squishing the whiskers up on his cheeks.

It was an overall endearing effect—Iruka couldn’t resist answering in kind. “Naruto!” He raised his eyes to the man behind him. “Kakashi-sensei, how are you?”

Kakashi rubbed at the back of his neck and smiled, eye curved up. “Quite well, sensei.”

“How was the mission?”

At that, Naruto crossed his arms and looked away, pouting. “Boooring.” He suddenly slammed his hands onto the desk. Leaning over the desk, intense eyes boring into Iruka’s, he asked, “Sensei, when am I gonna get to do a _real_ mission?”

Iruka furrowed his eyebrows. He’d just opened his mouth to scold the boy when he heard a sigh billow out of Kakashi. “Naruto, these _are_ real missions. People requested and paid for them. That makes them real.”

Naruto turned to protest. “But—!”

“—Kakashi-sensei is right, Naruto.”

Naruto swiveled back to Iruka. “But Iruka-sensei—!"

A vein pulsed in Iruka’s temple. “Naruto,” he growled out.

“Fine!” Naruto scowled and crossed his arms, petulantly turning away from both his teachers.

Iruka sighed, simultaneously exasperated and fond. He turned his attention to Kakashi and held out a hand. “Mission report?”

Iruka couldn’t help but huff a small laugh when he looked over the contents of the report. Ever since the jounin had passed Team Seven, Kakashi’s reports had gone from anger-inducing to clean, legible, and on time. His handwriting remained as atrocious as ever, though, but he’d take it over the dog-bitten, stained, crumpled, crude assaults to humanity he’d turned in before. Still, he also had a sneaking suspicion as to why they were so clean but no proof yet. He stamped the report, filed it, and gave Kakashi a smile. “Thank you for your hard work!”

At that, Naruto sprung back around, earlier resentment gone like it had never been there. “Iruka-sensei, you’re off now, right? Let’s go get some ramen!”

Iruka had been expecting it, but he still winced inwardly. His wallet was a bit thinner than he’d like it at the moment, and it definitely would not be able to take Naruto’s appetite for ramen today. He got up from his chair, started packing his things up, and smiled at the boy, hoping to soften the rejection. “Ah, sorry, Naruto. Not today.”

“Aw, what?” Naruto grabbed onto his sleeve with both hands and tugged, hanging off of Iruka. “Come on, sensei, pleaaaaaaaase? I’ve been waiting for this all day, and Kakashi-sensei is too cheap to buy me some.”

“Wha—hey,” Kakashi protested weakly. “I resent that, Naruto.”

Naruto stuck his tongue out at him.

Iruka chuckled. Pulling his arm away from Naruto, he started towards the door. “Alright, alright, how about this? You can come over, and I’ll make you something.”

Naruto leapt into the space beside him, arms up in the air in excitement. “Yes! Alright!”

Iruka ruffled his hair. They’d just passed through the doors when Iruka remembered something and stopped. “Ah.” Kakashi’s nose was in his book, but he quirked a brow when Iruka looked over his shoulder. “Would you like to come over as well, Kakashi-sensei?” Iruka asked.

Iruka had never seen an emotion painted so clearly on Kakashi’s masked face, eye wide and eyebrow raised up. It was gone a second later, replaced by another eye-smile. Kakashi had opened his mouth to reply but Naruto got there first.

“What?! No, sensei, don’t invite Kakashi-sensei! I already spent all day with him!”

An angry flush rose quickly on Iruka’s face. “Naruto!” he yelled and thumped him on the head. “Show your sensei some respect!”

“Maa, well…” Iruka turned his glare from Naruto’s impudent head to Kakashi, his temper softening as he took in the man, who had a hand rubbing at the back of his head. “There you have it, sensei.”

“Don’t listen to Naruto, Kakashi-sensei,” Iruka said, ignoring Naruto’s indignant “Hey!”. “Please, have dinner with us. I can’t say I’m the best cook around, but I can at least promise that whatever I make will be at least edible.” He smiled as invitingly as he could.

Iruka hoped he’d say yes—he had been completely prepared to accept a polite declination when he had first asked, but that readiness had gone completely out the window when he’d seen the abject shock on Kakashi’s face. No man should look that surprised over a dinner invitation.

“Normally I’d be hard-pressed to refuse such an incredibly enticing offer, sensei.” Hope swelled in his chest. “But…” The swell crashed down onto a shore of disappointment. It must have shown on his face because Kakashi looked a little remorseful.

Iruka couldn’t help but redden and then burn even more at the fact that he had reddened—really, he was an embarrassment of a ninja, but in his defense, a quick and wide smile was usually enough to distract most people. “Ah, I see. That’s alright.” He took a step back and scratched the edge of his scar. “Well, maybe next time, then?” he couldn’t help but offer again.

Kakashi gave him a small smile and put his hand back in his pocket. “Maybe n—"

A growl interrupted him before he could get the words, and both teachers looked to see Naruto glaring at them. “Oh my god, I’m _hungry._ ” He jabbed a finger in Kakashi’s direction. “You can come, okay, Kakashi-sensei? Sheesh.” Crossing his arms, Naruto gave a little harrumph. “I guess if Iruka-sensei wants you to come over so bad, then even _you_ must deserve his cooking.”

Iruka gaped at Naruto. He didn’t know whether to hug him or strangle him. Maybe both. Strangulation by fervent affection. _This child is going to be the death of me._ He was brought out of his mortification by a small chuckle.

Kakashi had reached over and was ruffling Naruto’s hair. “Well, how could I say no to such a generous offer. Thank you, Naruto-kun, for deigning to share your precious sensei with me.”

Naruto just huffed, but he didn’t do anything to remove the hand in his hair. “Yeah, whatever,” he mumbled.

“Well, sensei.” Kakashi smiled at him. “Guess I’ll be joining you for dinner.”

Iruka beamed.

***

Of all the things Kakashi had expected Iruka to say when he’d turned over his shoulder, an invite to his home for dinner was not one of them. So, when he declined the offer, thinking it was made just out of politeness, he didn’t expect Iruka’s clear disappointment. And he certainly didn’t expect that in the end he’d be crossing over the threshold into Iruka’s apartment, muttering a quick “Pardon the intrusion” as he slipped off his sandals. The man was a force of nature—it was not the wind’s forceful gusts, but the sun’s gentle and warm rays that removed the traveler’s coat, after all.

His wards, however…

Naruto immediately made for the corridor set across from the door, giving no indication at all that he even knew of the wards’ existence, and turned into a room, flinging his jacket onto the back of a couch as he went. So, the kid was clearly familiar with Iruka’s place. Kakashi would bet his Icha Icha collection that the room he turned into was a spare that Iruka had set aside for just Naruto’s use.

“Your wards and traps systems are impressively terrifying, Iruka-sensei.” He sent out a tendril of chakra, brushed up against the wards, and summarily hid a shiver.

Iruka looked up from where he was toeing off his sandals. “Haha, yeah.” He scratched at the edge of his scar, but he looked a little pleased. “Got to protect myself, somehow.”

That caught Kakashi’s attention. “But you’re an Academy teacher; I know that you guys have to go through some strict training to meet the requirements to teach. Surely, you’d be able to handle yourself if anyone broke into your home.”

Iruka paused in placing his sandals in a metal shoe rack with his toes. “Your confidence in my skill is flattering, Kakashi-sensei. And yes, our training is tough, but beyond meeting requirements…” He looked up and met Kakashi’s eye. “I’m a good chuunin, a capable ninja, but that’s it, really. I have no specialized jutsu, nothing beyond good basics, and that’s not enough. The only thing that could be called specialized is my aptitude for seals. So, I use them as best as I can.” As Iruka spoke, his eyes had drifted from Kakashi’s to the corridor. “I have things I want to protect.”

 _And what a precious thing to have to protect,_ Kakashi mused.

Iruka cleared his throat before hanging his flak jacket on a hook above the shoe rack. “A-anyway.” He pivoted on his heel and strode to the kitchen. “Come along, Kakashi-sensei,” he called. “I didn’t plan for this dinner, so you might as well help cook.”

Kakashi blinked, before huffing in amusement. Iruka was certainly suited to be a teacher, if the way he had no problem with putting people to work was anything to go by.

He moseyed on over to the kitchen, where Iruka was bent forward, peering into his fridge. When he noticed Kakashi, he shuffled over to the side, a clear invitation to join him in perusing. Kakashi obliged, and together, they scanned through Iruka’s foodstuffs.

This close, Kakashi was surprised by the man’s non-scent. His nose twitched. There were notes of ink and metal, but unlike most people, Iruka didn’t seem to use any scented soaps. Kakashi gave him one point—one of the reasons for his mask was the overwhelming smells of village life. Even typically pleasant smells could become nauseating.

Iruka was watching him, a slight smile tugging at his lips, brow raised. Kakashi raised his own brow in answer. Iruka chuckled. “I’ve gotten at least one Inuzuka kid in my class ever since I started. They seem to appreciate non-smells.”

That’s the second time Iruka’s surprised him and only in the span of a few hours. Kakashi wondered if his perceptiveness was something he’d always had or was a product of dealing with classes of 30 kids. “That’s very considerate of you, sensei.”

“Ah, it’s nothing.” Iruka straightened up. Kakashi followed. “Wasn’t too much of a sacrifice to give up sandalwood. And anyway, turns out it’s better for missions anyway.”

“Considerate _and_ practical.” Kakashi put his hand to his chin and raised his eye up to the ceiling in fake deep thought. “Now it makes sense that Team Seven is the first genin team I’ve ever passed.” He glanced at Iruka from the corner of his eye. “Though, Naruto remains a mystery.”

He got whacked on the arm. “Kakashi-sensei!” Iruka exclaimed, properly indignant on his student’s behalf, but Kakashi could see the smile trying to push through his scowl.

He raised his hands, palms out, and curved his eye up, trying to appease Iruka. “I jest, sensei.” Kakashi opened his eye. “Naruto really is a good kid. You’ve done a good job with him. He’s lucky to have you.”

At that, Iruka’s eyes burst wide and—Kakashi winced internally, he was so very bad at comfort—suddenly looked wet. He blinked the wetness back quickly, though, and gave Kakashi a smile that made him feel like he was beholding a field of sunflowers. His hand twitched to pull up his headband—whether it was to burn the smile into his memory or check for genjutsu, he wasn’t sure.

He was saved from staring when Naruto burst out of his room, wearing striped orange pajamas, and slunk over to sink his head down into his arms on the counter separating the kitchen from the living room. “You guys better not be talking about me.”

Iruka’s smile turned impish. “Oh no, we definitely were. In fact, Kakashi-sensei had just finished telling me about—”

“—the time where you guys tried to take off my mask.” Kakashi smiled at Naruto in a way that he knew annoyed the kid to no end. “I have never been so amused by utter failure.”

Iruka laughed, and Kakashi felt a little thrill. Maybe he should try to pull this kind of reaction from Iruka more often at the Mission Desk.

Naruto wailed, long and loud, before scowling at Kakashi. “Well, if maybe you’d just _show_ us and didn’t act so sketchy all the time, we wouldn’t have had to—”

Naruto’s tirade was interrupted when his stomach released its whale song. All his energy drained away, and he slumped back down against the counter. “Iruka-senseiiiii,” he whined. “Foooood.”

Kakashi couldn’t help but think fondly, _What a brat._

It seemed Iruka was of the same mind, because he lightly thumped the top of Naruto’s head. “Hush. I’m getting to it, okay? Be patient.” He began pulling ingredients out from the fridge, muttering all the while. “Honestly, first you strongarm me into cooking a dinner I had no time to plan for, then you complain the whole while.” Iruka swung around, brandishing a daikon at Naruto. “You know, this would go a lot faster if you helped.”

Naruto groaned. “Alright, alright, I’ll help.” He didn’t look too put out about it though. The whole exchange had a sense of well-worn familiarity. Kakashi didn’t doubt that variations of it occurred every time Naruto came over.

“Good. Now get over here and chop these vegetables.” Iruka turned to Kakashi and handed him a knife. “Kakashi-sensei, if you could chop this”—he gestured to a thawed chicken breast on a chopping board—“into cubes, then I can start the noodles and make the sauce.”

“Of course, sensei.”

The rest of the evening passed in the same vein, with Naruto and Iruka’s banter interspersed with Iruka’s occasional direction and reprimand. They seamlessly integrated Kakashi into their dynamic, and after a delicious meal of stir-fry, Kakashi felt full in a way that had nothing to do with the food.

***

Iruka glanced over at Kakashi. He looked relaxed, slumped in his chair, one arm hanging over the back, and was currently happily the object of Naruto’s ire. The man was merciless in his teasing. But he was never cruel. Kakashi, Iruka well knew, liked to get a rise out of people. Really, giving him a genin team was just supplying him a with a permanent set of victims.

Naruto’s ranting was interrupted by a jaw-breaking yawn.

“I guess that’s my cue,” Kakashi said, and he got up from his chair.

“What? Nooo,” Naruto whined. “C’mon, stay a bit longer, Kakashi-sensei. I swear I’m not tired.”

Iruka found himself inwardly agreeing with Naruto—it really had been an enjoyable evening, and he was just a little sad that it had to end. But it was getting late.

Kakashi tilted his head to the side, smiling. “Aw, how sweet, Naruto, and after you so vehemently protested that I come to dinner.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Brat,” Kakashi said and ruffled Naruto’s hair.

“Come on, Naruto,” Iruka coaxed. “It’s late, time for all good ninja to go to bed.”

“Pah,” Naruto groused, but he got up anyway and started dragging himself to his room. He stopped before the threshold and looked over his shoulder. “Night, ‘Ruka-sensei. See ya later, Kakashi-sensei.”

“Good night.”

“Later, Naruto.”

A lazy wave in their general direction, and Naruto disappeared into his room.

Iruka got up from his chair as well and walked Kakashi to his door.

“Well, sensei,” Kakashi said as he put on his shoes and walked outside into the night air, “Thank you for the dinner. It was very pleasant.” Kakashi sounded surprised at the truth of the last word, like he truly hadn’t expected to enjoy the night. Though, given the way Kakashi was…

Iruka smothered a laugh, grinning instead. “I’m glad.” He leaned against the door jamb, and the surprise in Kakashi’s eye when he’d invited him flashed through his brain. He was still brooding over the image when he said, “Come over again anytime, Kakashi.”

Kakashi didn’t miss the deliberate drop of the honorific, if the momentary glance was anything to go by. “Maa, well, sensei, should the Road of Life ever happen to lead this way…”

Iruka didn’t bother hiding his amusement this time. “Of course.” He looked at the man standing outside his door, half-turned away already, ready to escape but still lingering, and felt a rush of warmth. “Goodnight then, Kakashi.”

Kakashi gave a little two-finger wave. “See ya, sensei.” And he teleported away, leaving nothing but a few leaves in his wake.

Iruka was turning in for bed when he remembered. He sighed. He never did get to ask about the mission reports.

***

Kakashi was in a bit of a daze. Of all the things he’d expected of the dinner, actually enjoying it was not one of them. Neither was Iruka’s standing invitation. And he certainly didn’t expect that deliberate lack of honorific. He could guess at its meaning: Iruka invited him not in the capacity that he was Naruto’s sensei, but in that Iruka wanted to become, or already thought of them as, friends. He didn’t even know that the man liked him—he certainly didn’t hold back in his tongue-lashings when Kakashi turned in his, admittedly, less-than-stellar reports.

He did make it a point to be in Iruka’s line every time, though. Kakashi paused in front of the door to his apartment. Maybe he was a masochist?

He shook his head, exasperated with himself, and let himself in.

Pakkun ambushed him before he’d even gotten to take off his sandals. Kakashi stared down at the pug. “You’re late,” Pakkun said.

Kakashi blinked. “I’m always late.”

Pakkun looked at him tiredly for a long moment before sighing. “Not this kind of late, boss.” Then his eyes widened, his nose twitching. “ _Really_ not this kind of late. Who was crazy enough to invite you into their home? For _dinner?”_

“Hey,” Kakashi said, wounded. “I’m a good house guest.”

Pakkun’s eyes looked ready to bulge out of their sockets. “And you actually _went_ ,” he carried on like Kakashi hadn’t said anything. “Not only that, you _enjoyed—_ you wouldn’t have stayed for so long otherwise. Who _was_ it, boss?”

Kakashi raised his eyes to the heavens and sighed. Really, his ninken had no respect for him. “Umino Iruka.”

“The Academy sensei? Minato’s son’s adoptive parent?”

“The very one.”

“Ah. Guess it makes sense then,” Pakkun said and refused to elaborate. He sniffed again. “He smells like ink and metal and wildflowers,” he said with an approving nod.

“Yes, I know.” Kakashi paused. “Wildflowers?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh. Now, will you please let me enter my own home?”

“No.”

Kakashi stared at him.

“Tch, yeah, fine, whatever,” Pakkun grumbled and backed out of the genkan. Really, no respect.

“Thank you, Pakkun,” he said, throwing the ninken a sardonic smile.

Kakashi toed off his sandals slowly, the memories of the dinner playing over in his mind and got stuck on the sunflower smile. Wildflowers, huh.

“He invited me again,” he said. The words drew out of his lips slowly, a thin string pulling them almost unwillingly out of his larynx and over his tongue, which twisted into the correct shapes to invoke them. “He invited me again,” he repeated, this time the words coming much easier. He savored the way they felt on his tongue before looking towards Pakkun.

The pug was lying on the foot of the bed, head slightly tilted to the side. “Are you going to take him up on it?”

“I don’t know.” He had said that thing about the Road of Life, but he really had just been trying to avoid giving a straight answer. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Pakkun hummed. He eyed Kakashi a little longer before settling his head down on his paws. Conversation over, Kakashi guessed.

He got ready for bed and had just laid down when Pakkun spoke. “I think you should go again.”

Kakashi didn’t reply for a long time. He turned on his side, facing his bedside table. A thin beam of moonlight bled through his curtains, onto the picture frame on the table.

He settled himself against the mattress and pillows until he was comfortable. “Okay,” he said, and closed his eyes.

***

Turns out, he wouldn’t get to visit Iruka again for a while because his genin team was assigned a mission to the Land of Waves the next day.

***

Iruka opened his door to see a ragged Kakashi on his doorstep. His shoulders, which were usually so slumped, were rigid and straight. A doleful eye gleamed dully in a sunken eye socket, wearily trained on Iruka. The steel-grey of it usually pierced Iruka like a sword, but now, it looked dull, the ashen iron dust of a worn blade.

Kakashi didn’t say anything. Iruka stepped to the side, wordlessly giving permission to enter. Kakashi slunk in, pausing at Iruka’s side to nod at him once before straggling past into the apartment.

Iruka followed him, watched as Kakashi came to a stop in the middle of his apartment. He didn’t know why Kakashi was here, and Kakashi didn’t seem that much sure himself.

It was that lostness that made him come up to Kakashi’s side and ask, “Would you like to see Naruto?”

Kakashi’s eye widened only slightly but for longer than his usual split-second expressions. Concern twinged at Iruka. He tilted his head towards Naruto’s room. “He’s in there, sleeping. Came back home and crashed.” Kakashi shot his gaze towards the door. “Would you like to see him?”

Kakashi cleared his throat, swallowed, but he didn’t speak, just nodded once. He trod to the room, his stride a little more purposeful, and opened the door just a touch. He didn’t step in, lingering instead, hovering at the threshold.

Iruka left him to it, ambling into the kitchen to make some tea. He knew what Kakashi would find in there and hoped that he would feel some sort of solace in Naruto’s sprawling sleep, his gentle snores. He knew he did, after reading that mission report and then hearing it straight out of the boy’s mouth. Kakashi—and he was sure it was Kakashi who wrote this one—had left nothing out, and while that usually made for hilarity, this one had caused Iruka to feel nothing but horror and a deep sorrow. To see Naruto slumbering as restfully as always was relieving.

He was just setting the tea tray onto the kotatsu in the living room when Kakashi emerged from the hallway. Kakashi strayed away in a vague direction towards the door but slowed, stopped, halfway to it. He floated there, dull eyes staring at some point on the door, and Iruka could almost see the thin wire noosed around his consciousness, pulling him a thousand miles within himself, deeper and deeper until he was at the threat of never resurfacing.

“Kakashi,” Iruka called out softly.

Kakashi didn’t move, making Iruka wonder if he’d heard him. He opened his mouth to call out to him again when Kakashi twitched. Like a rusty wind-up toy, his head slowly creaked towards Iruka, and he looked so lost that Iruka just had to go to him, had to put a hand on his arm and guide him gently to the kotatsu himself. He lowered him onto the floor at the kotatsu with a gentle press of his hand downward, wrapped his cold fingers around a cup, and poured tea into it.

Iruka sat at the adjacent side and poured some tea for himself, watching Kakashi out of the corner of his eye. There was a pile of grading for him to do, but he didn’t start on it until he saw Kakashi take a sip. Then Kakashi threw the cup back like it was a shot. Iruka watched with wide eyes; it must have burned but Kakashi didn’t even flinch. He just stared into the empty cup until Iruka poured him some more. This one, Kakashi sipped at slowly.

Appeased for the time-being, Iruka pulled the stack of papers towards himself and began grading. Kakashi didn’t speak, and Iruka didn’t offer any conversation. They sat there quietly, the silence interspersed with the sound of sipped tea. It wasn’t peaceful, but it was calm, and slowly, gradually, the tension in Kakashi’s shoulders eroded away, mountains crumbling into hills. At some point, Iruka noticed that Kakashi sipped only for every paper he finished grading. Iruka smiled softly to himself and kept on grading. And if he was a bit slower than before, well... He’d just say he was being careful.

But eventually, the stack dwindled into nothing. Iruka put down the last red mark and pushed the papers away reluctantly.

Kakashi set down his cup, a decisive _thunk_ of ceramic against wood. Iruka appraised him and was satisfied with what he saw. Kakashi was once again in his usual slouched posture, and his eyes had regained some of that steely sharpness.

Slowly, Kakashi rose to his feet, swaying only for a moment before he was steady. Iruka followed him up and to the door.

Before Kakashi walked out, he paused, his head twitching to the side, and spoke for the first time since he’d entered Iruka’s apartment. “Thank you, Iruka.” His voice was raspy, hoarse, but to Iruka, in light of his earlier silence, it might as well have held the same melodic sonance that his voice usually did.

Iruka gave him a soft smile. “Of course. Anytime, Kakashi.”

***

Kakashi collapsed face down on his mattress. The ninken grumbled at being jostled but readjusted themselves and got comfortable quickly. Pakkun popped his head up from where it had been resting on the pillow. “You went to Iruka-sensei’s.”

Kakashi nodded.

“Hm. And?”

“He thought I was there for Naruto.”

“Ah. Did he let you stay?”

“Yeah.”

“So, was it good?”

Was it?

Kakashi didn’t know why he’d ended up at Iruka’s front door. If he was suffering from post-mission stress, the memorial stone was his go-to. And he had gone to the stone. Stood there for hours. And usually it was enough to stand there, to let the pain and guilt slough off him and sink heavily into the ground at the base of the stone.

But this time, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough because he couldn’t get the images of Sakura’s terrified eyes, of Sasuke and Naruto’s blood, out of his head, out of his mind, out of his eye. They overlapped the precious, carved names, and the stone became the perfect surface to paint the bloody tableaus. It wasn’t enough, and instead of the pain sloughing off, heavy and meaty, it became whipcord thin, wrapped around him tight, clung close to his skin and dragged and twisted along it, crushed into him deeper and deeper until he could hardly breathe.

It wasn’t enough, so he ran away, flickered in and out of reality until he found himself standing in front of Iruka.

Iruka, who had let him in without a word. Iruka, who let him paint over the bloody tableaus with a scene of Naruto, his sensei’s precious son, sleeping peacefully on his stomach, back rising and falling with each breath. Iruka, who gave him tea, and sat with him in silence, offering him his home and comfort openly.

Iruka, who had touched him gently with warm hands and eyes.

And it was enough.

“Yeah, Pakkun,” he said. “It was good.”

***

The next time Iruka saw Kakashi, he was walking home from a late shift at the Mission Desk. Evening had fallen on Konoha, and the lights from the stalls and storefronts washed the way home with a cheery glow.

A loud, brash voice caught his attention, and he smiled. He’d know that laugh anywhere. He looked around, and sure enough, his eyes landed on Ichiraku, its red overhangs lit up bright from the light inside. It seemed a quick detour was in order.

As he got closer, he could hear Naruto and Sakura arguing. Naruto said something rather stupid, so Iruka waited until the inevitable sound of Sakura’s punch had passed to lift the overhang and poke his head in.

“Hello, Team 7!”

Naruto quickly straightened up from where he’d been hunched over his ramen and clutching his head while Sakura’s glare quickly turned into a bright smile. “Iruka-sensei!” the two called out. Sasuke looked up from where he’d been bent over something and nodded politely.

Kakashi looked over his shoulder, eye turned up. “Good evening, Iruka-sensei. Will you join us?”

“Good evening,” Iruka replied. “And if you don’t mind?”

“Of course not.” Kakashi waved a hand at the stool next to him.

Iruka sat down. Turning to face Kakashi, Iruka passed a cursory eye over him. He looked much livelier than he had last time. Good. “So. Celebrating a successful mission?”

Naruto popped out from beside Kakashi, leaning across him. “Hell yeah, it was successful!” He smiled smugly and pointed a thumb at his own chest. “And it was all thanks to me!”

Kakashi just sighed. “Naruto, you let the chest we were supposed to be protecting fall into a ravine, which we then had to chase before it shattered into a million pieces at the bottom.”

“Okay, yeah, but I still caught it!”

Kakashi sighed again. “Yes. Yes, you did Naruto,” he said tiredly.

Sasuke snorted, and that of course set Naruto off.

Iruka laughed. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full, Kakashi.”

“Sensei.” Kakashi looked him straight in the eye, voice serious. Iruka blinked at his mood’s sudden shift. “I never truly understood the hardships and difficulties the Academy teachers have to go through every day until I got these brats.” Ignoring Sakura and Naruto’s “Hey!”, he continued, “Truly, you are a saint among saints to deal with thirty of those little hellions at a time.”

Iruka, flushing brilliantly, couldn’t help but add faintly, “And with kunai.”

“And with kunai!” Kakashi leaned forward suddenly, causing Iruka to tilt back on instinct. “Competent shinobi are dangerous, that’s true, but shinobi who don’t know what they’re doing are even more so.”

Iruka had never seen Kakashi so earnest before—it was a bit jarring when he was normally so laidback, but he couldn’t say that he disliked it. He rubbed at the edge of his scar and looked away, chuckling softly, “Well, it helps that I love teaching.”

“Maa, well, that just proves it. I know we jounin have a reputation for insanity, but you must be crazier than the rest of us.”

Iruka smirked. “Those quirks you jounin are so fond of are just the eccentricities of your child selves carried over into adulthood. At least children have the excuse of _being children._ What’s your excuse?”

From next to Kakashi, Iruka heard Sasuke snort again.

Kakashi held a palm over his heart and gasped. “Iruka-sensei, you wound me!”

Iruka burst into laughter. “Tell me I’m wrong!”

Kakashi opened his mouth, and Iruka waited patiently for his answer, eager to hear what absurd reasoning Kakashi would come up with. Instead, Kakashi closed his mouth, and, to Iruka’s utter delight, seemed to pout under the mask. “I can’t…”

Iruka laughed again, at which Kakashi looked deeply offended, so he took pity on him and changed the subject. “What’s Sasuke working on?”

“Hm?” Kakashi glanced over at the boy before turning a glib smile over to Iruka. “Oh, that. Sasuke-kun is currently working on a love le—”

“I’m writing the mission report.”

Iruka stilled. He leaned over the counter to get a clearer view of him. “You’re writing the mission report,” he said flatly.

Sasuke handed it over to him. Iruka glanced over it, taking in its neatness and legibility, and felt a vessel throb in his temple. “Kakashi-sensei,” he said, voice low, “have you been taking advantage of your students and making them write the mission reports? The reports that are supposed to be written by the team leader?” He turned a sweet smile to the Copy-nin. “Is that why I haven’t had to scold you like a pre-genin lately?”

“Oh, shit,” Naruto whispered.

Still smiling glibly, Kakashi said, “You see, sensei, I won’t always be around to write up their mission reports, so I figured why not give them some practice writing them for when they’ll be on their own?” He didn’t look one bit ashamed.

Iruka dropped the smile. “Kakashi,” he growled out, “the mission reports are _forms._ Do you understand what that means?”

“Well, I’d dare say so. I am considered a genius, you know.”

Iruka snapped. He shoved the mission report in Kakashi’s face and yelled, “It means that you don’t even have to _think_ about what to write because there are headings that ask that for you! Literally all you have to do is insert the information!” He slammed the report down on the counter. “It’s intuitive! They don’t need practice! And from what I’ve seen so far, they’re doing a lot better than you!”

Kakashi had his hands up in front of him in a conciliatory gesture. “Maa, maa, sensei...”

“Don’t ‘maa’ me!” Iruka picked up the report again, about to yell a few more choice words when something on the report caught his attention. He brought it close to his face and scanned it carefully. Kakashi’s handwriting looked back up at him, an affront to the sensibilities of all teachers. “Ah. Well. That proves that, I guess.”

“Hm?” Kakashi tilted his head to the side, an act that reminded Iruka strongly of a dog. “Oh! You can tell?”

Iruka looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Of course, I can tell. Just who do you think you’ve been turning in reports to these past years?” Iruka lowered his eyes to the report again, took in the lazy, insolent scrawl. “Or rather, I suspected.” Iruka sighed. “I can’t even stay mad now.”

Iruka looked over to Sasuke. “I assume you’ve been using the Sharingan?” Sasuke nodded. “That’s amazing; it looks exactly like Kakashi’s writing. And I suppose it’s good training to learn how to use the Sharingan, too?” Sasuke nodded again, looking as pleased as a boy with facial rigor mortis can.

Past Sasuke, Naruto and Sakura were with badly concealed interest. “You guys, too?”

“Yep!” Naruto answered. “It was hard at first and Sakura-chan kept making me do them over cuz I couldn’t get it right. But for some reason, I could copy Kakashi-sensei’s writing if I made a clone, transformed it into Kakashi-sensei, and then made it write. It was just easier to see that way.”

“Oh, is that how you were doing it?” Kakashi asked. “Well, that’s certainly out of the box.”

Naruto scratched at the back of his head, laughing bashfully.

Iruka turned to Sakura. “And you, Sakura?”

“Well,” Sakura began, “I don’t have any kekkei or weird thought patterns, so I just had to stick with plain old elbow grease. I analyzed Kakashi-sensei’s reports and practiced writing the characters until I could get them right. Then I just put it all together.”

“And did just as well as the Sharingan,” Iruka praised.

“Precision always has been Sakura’s forte,” Kakashi said.

Sakura blushed and smiled modestly. “Thank you, Iruka-sensei, Kakashi-sensei.”

“Well,” Iruka began, “forgery is certainly a useful skill to know, especially when it comes to infiltration and interception, and you three have definitely learned it well—”

“Maa, sensei, I’m glad you agree—" Kakashi butted in.

“—but don’t think you can use that as an excuse to not write the mission reports, Kakashi- _sensei_.”

Kakashi deflated. Sighing, he said, “I suppose I should have known better that you would let it pass.”

Iruka huffed in amusement. “Yes, you should have.” He ran his gaze over them, lingering on Kakashi. For a moment, the image of Kakashi, standing on his doorstep and fraying at the ends, overlaid the one sitting right in front of him. Iruka softened. It was faint, but there still lingered a trace of that rundown Kakashi over this one.

“Iruka?”

Iruka broke out of his musing and realized to his mortification that he’d been staring. A small blush warmed his cheeks, and he waved a hand in front of his face, like he could just wave away the embarrassment like it was nothing more than a pesky fly. “It’s nothing, Kakashi. Anyway, I should get going now.”

Kakashi was watching him with barely concealed amusement, the slight crinkles at the corner of his eye the only sign giving it away. Thankfully, he didn’t ask about Iruka’s staring. “Alright, sensei. It is getting pretty late.” Kakashi grinned. “And it’d be best for me to leave too before Naruto empties my wallet.”

“It was only three bowls,” Naruto grumbles in the background.

“Yeah, Kakashi-sensei, it was only three bowls.” Teuchi and Ayame leaned over the counter, eyes gleaming like coins. “Surely that’s not enough for three growing kids,” Teuchi wheedled.

“Teuchi-san, please, take pity on my wallet,” Kakashi pleaded. Teuchi laughed, all in good humor.

Iruka watched for a moment before getting up, leaving Kakashi to deal with Teuchi’s cajoling. “Have a good night, you guys.”

“Have a good night, Iruka-sensei,” Naruto and Sakura chorused. Sasuke gave him another polite nod.

Iruka lifted the overhang, just about to step out, when he heard Kakashi’s voice pipe up from behind. “Goodnight, Iruka. I’ll see you later?”

Iruka turned his head over his shoulder. Kakashi was slouched in his stool, looking slightly harried from fending off Teuchi from his wallet. But there was a slight tenseness lacing the lines of his body, and he looked almost…nervous? A small smile turned up Iruka’s lips. “Yeah, Kakashi,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

He turned out of the stall with one last goodbye to Team 7 and walked home, the sight of Kakashi’s answering smile etched into his memory.

***

Iruka did see Kakashi later. Maybe it was just that Kakashi had needed verbal permission in public to make sure that Iruka hadn’t been offering only out of politeness, or perhaps he’d been planning on visiting Iruka anyway, but he started showing up at Iruka’s door after Ichiraku.

Not very frequently—not at first—but enough so that Iruka knew that the visitations wouldn’t fizzle out. He could say, with very little doubt, that he and Kakashi were friends.

Kakashi always passed by the Mission Desk or the Academy, hanging out at their respective entrances at the end of Iruka’s shifts when he wanted to come over. It had probably taken some stalking to know his schedule so well—he couldn’t have just _asked,_ of course, that’s too _normal_ —but Iruka was grateful for it anyway because it meant that he never had to turn him away. They’d walk together to Iruka’s apartment, where they’d sit at the kotatsu with freshly brewed tea.

Some days, Kakashi was quiet, still, not quite unlike after the Wave mission. Those days, Iruka didn’t talk, and he didn’t ask Kakashi to speak either. They would sit there, Iruka grading his papers or reviewing lesson plans and Kakashi reading his book, comfortable in each other’s silence, until Kakashi got up to leave.

Other days, Kakashi was as animated as he’d been at Ichiraku and that first dinner, always starting the conversation with his students, usually Sasuke. Eventually, they would shift topics, and they’d pass the hours away with pleasant conversation and banter, Iruka only sometimes blowing up.

Sometimes Naruto would tag along, and they’d cook dinner together. A couple memorable occasions, the whole team came over, filling Iruka’s tiny home to the absolute brim with their loud bickering and laughter.

Every time, though, Kakashi always left saying, “Thank you, Iruka. See you later.”

It was…nice. Beyond nice. In all honesty, Iruka didn’t think he and Kakashi would get on so well when he offered that open invite, but he was very pleased to be wrong.

Kakashi was a breath of fresh air, a small deviation from the norm, with his strange combination of dry wit, understated dramatics, and relentless teasing. His presence was soothing, though, a soft palm that smoothed Iruka’s ruffled feathers when the kids or jounin had been particularly trying.

He hoped being around him helped Kakashi as much as it helped him.

***

The first test of their friendship came with the advent of the Chuunin Exams. Iruka had yelled, Kakashi had reacted, and in the end, no one had left happy.

Kakashi stared out over the expanse of the village from a rooftop. Night had painted its indigo wash over the sky, and the moon dripped its borrowed light sparsely, turning shadows into dark hollows.

 _Stay out of this! They’re no longer your students—they’re_ my _subordinates now._

His voice, rough and grating, echoed in his head, and he felt yet another wave of remorse. There was a novelty to it, though. This would be the first time he’d lose a friend not to death but to a failing of his own character. He wasn’t sure if he liked it better—it hurt that they’d died, still hurt, hurt more than he could bear, but at least he could claim some lack of control in their deaths.

This, however, was completely his own fault.

Kakashi mourned.

A slight displacement of wind alerted him to another presence on the roof behind him. Without looking, he knew it was Iruka—he’d know that chakra, that scent of metal and wildflowers, anywhere now.

“They passed,” Iruka said, voice bereft of any inflection.

Kakashi nodded and expected that to be the end of it, expected another displacement of air to signal Iruka’s departure. He was wrong.

“Kakashi.”

Kakashi only just hid the flinch at his own name. He turned his head slightly, his blind side, just enough that Iruka would know he was listening, just enough so that he couldn’t see him.

He didn’t think he could stand it if Iruka was showing that polite façade he wore when working the Desk.

Then, in a tone that he’d never heard his name said in before, Iruka repeated, “Kakashi.” It was infinitely soft, infinitely tender, and Kakashi wondered at it, at how Iruka could say his name in such a way, even after their fight, and not feel torn open, utterly exposed. “Please. Look at me.”

Kakashi couldn’t find it in himself to disobey. When he turned, he found Iruka bowing. “Iruka…”

“I’m sorry, Kakashi,” Iruka said.

What?

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, and especially not in front of the Hokage,” he continued. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. I’m sorry. I hope you can find it within yourself to forgive me.” Iruka’s voice was strong and clear; his words rung with sincerity.

Kakashi watched, grim and confused. This wasn’t—this shouldn’t be happening. “Iruka, please… You have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should be apologizing.” Iruka straightened, a quizzical brow raised. “I shouldn’t have said the things I said.”

“I pretty much attacked you, Kakashi. You were only defending yourself.” Iruka shrugged, a self-deprecating smile on his lips. “It’s understandable.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s excusable.”

Iruka’s eyes widened. His lips parted, a soundless little exclaim of surprise.

 _It really shouldn’t be so surprising,_ Kakashi thought, a touch bitter, _that I’d know my own failings._

But Iruka’s lips quickly shifted into a small smile, and Kakashi’s relief at Iruka turning his smile toward him once more quickly superseded the bitterness. “I guess we were both wrong, and now that we’ve both apologized…” Iruka’s voice trailed off, and he looked away to the ground, scratching at the edge of his scar. “Would you, maybe, like to come over for dinner?”

Iruka’s shoulders were hunched in, like he was bracing his body for an inevitable rejection, and really, Iruka should know better by now. Or maybe it’s another one of Kakashi’s failings, that Iruka doesn’t know much he has come to value their bond. In any case, there could only be one answer.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Kakashi would say yes forever if he thought it would make Iruka give him that sunflower smile every time.

***

Iruka was ecstatic. He’d spent much of his time after that disaster at the Hokage’s office agonizing over their argument and had realized that if he wanted to keep Kakashi, he’d have to act, and act fast.

So, he’d gone and apologized, and miraculously, Kakashi had forgiven him. Even more miraculous, he’d apologized himself, though there really was no need.

But they were good now. Maybe even better than before, and it gave Iruka hope that perhaps their bond was now the kind that would let them get past anything, would grow even stronger.

He busied himself in his kitchen, brewing one of his more special teas and set out some snacks on a tray. Once the tea was ready, he carried out the tray into the living room, only to pause at the threshold.

Kakashi was sitting at the kotatsu. And that was normal, in and of itself, but… That was Iruka’s side of the kotatsu. Eyes trained on his book, Kakashi looked like he had done nothing out of the ordinary, like this had always been their arrangement.

Iruka didn’t know what Kakashi was thinking, but he wasn’t going to find out standing there, so he strode into the living room to set the tray onto the kotatsu. Closer, he realized that Kakashi was sitting a little off to one side, leaving enough space that another person could fit themselves into comfortably.

Iruka held back a chuckle. _Of course, he couldn’t just ask that we sit together, now could he,_ Iruka thought, fondly exasperated. But he was pleased, almost embarrassingly so, that Kakashi wanted to be close to him, like he wanted to affirm and confirm their peace through physical proximity.

Taking Kakashi’s subtle-as-Naruto hint, Iruka eased himself down into the open spot. Their arms were just shy of pressed together and grazed with every small movement. He poured them each a cup of tea and leaned back against the couch, savoring the tea and company, and tried not to think too hard about the warmth stroked into his skin with every passing brush of their arms.

“You know,” Kakashi said after a few minutes of silence, “I didn’t think you’d forgive me”—he silenced Iruka’s protests that he didn’t need to be forgiven with a look—“this easily. Or rather, that this would be resolved so quickly.”

Iruka set his cup down on the table, chuckling. “In all honesty, I’m kind of surprised it didn’t happen earlier.” At Kakashi’s affronted look, he burst into laughter. “What? Come on, you have to admit, we’re very different people, Kakashi.”

Kakashi tilted his head back, chin up to the ceiling. “Well… I suppose we are. For the better, too, I guess.”

“Hah?” Iruka nudged Kakashi’s arm with his shoulder, grinning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Maa, just that two Kakashis would no doubt cause some sort of cosmic imbalance and thus throw the whole world into irreparable chaos.”

“Oh?” Iruka smirked. “So, you’re saying I balance you out?”

Kakashi turned the full force of his leer on Iruka. “If a lazy, irreverent, porn-reading jounin can be balanced out by a slave-driving, overly-polite, and proper-as-a-princess chuunin, then yes.”

Iruka gasped, reproach blooming across his scar. “Kakashi!” he yelled, utterly indignant, and backhanded his arm.

Kakashi broke out in full laughter.

Whatever flogging Iruka had readied died in his throat as he stared. Kakashi didn’t throw his head back or let out belly-aching guffaws; instead, his low laughter shook his chest and shoulders, his arm coming over his waist as if to trying to hold his mirth within himself, and his grin was clear to see through his mask and in the crinkles in the corner of his squeezed-shut eye.

He looked brighter than Iruka had ever seen him, a full moon finally after days of crescents and first quarters.

Iruka swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He turned his gaze away to glare weakly into his teacup and mumbled, “Ass.”

Kakashi’s laughter petered out, but Iruka could still hear his grin when he replied, “So you say, but you’re smiling anyway.”

***

The Sand betrayed the Leaf, Orochimaru killed the Third, and Iruka didn’t have much reason to smile afterward.

***

Kakashi found him on the roof. Iruka sat with his back to him, curled up with his arms around his knees. Kakashi could smell the salt of his tears.

He walked over and sat down by his side. Iruka stared out at Hokage Rock. Tears seeped from his eyes like refuse from an open wound, and his shoulders made little heaves as his chest strained to wrench in breath with desperate gasps. Crimson mottled his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the edges of his eyes.

Even in mourning, Iruka bled life.

But Kakashi knew well Iruka’s pain, knew well the way it would drown the world in darkness even as the world scorched red under raging fires, the way it dragged you along in its undertow, sucked you into its whirlpool and sent you spiraling down to the bottom, where you shattered into a million splinters.

Maybe a lifesaver could rescue you. But when Minato had died, so had the last person—the only person from whom Kakashi could bear help—who would throw themselves in towards Kakashi and drag him back out.

Iruka was feeling that way now, with his beloved mentor and father-figure gone, Naruto still too dependent to be able to be his lifesaver in return, but Kakashi was here now. He won’t let him suffer for long.

So, Kakashi pressed himself against Iruka’s side, because Iruka seemed like the kind of person to want physical comfort, and hoped that the warmth leaking through his clothes would give him some modicum of reassurance. It must have been the right thing to do, because Iruka dropped his head heavily onto Kakashi’s shoulder, like he couldn’t bear to hold it up anymore under the weight of his tears.

They sat there for hours, and for hours, Iruka wept on his shoulder, quietly, until he couldn’t anymore, all dried out. And then they sat there for a couple hours more, watched the moon rise high into the sky.

Iruka never moved from his spot on Kakashi’s shoulder, and Kakashi didn’t make any move to end the contact.

It was nearing dawn when Iruka finally stirred. His head twitched against Kakashi, made an aborted move to right itself, but instead ending up sinking even heavier against him. Another moment passed. “Let’s go inside,” he rasped.

“Ok,” Kakashi said. He wrapped one arm around Iruka’s shoulders, the other under his knees, and picked him up. Iruka lay against him limply. Kakashi walked to where he knew was a window into Iruka’s apartment and entered through it.

Iruka grumbled at his use of the window, a small, weak murmur against his neck. Kakashi smiled—if Iruka could still nag at him, then he’ll be alright.

He dropped him off in his bedroom, laid him down gently on his bed. He walked to the foot of the bed and whipped the covers out from underneath Iruka’s body. Iruka made a little gasping sound of shock and protest but quieted down quickly when Kakashi draped the blankets over him. He removed Iruka’s hitai-ate, placed it on the bedside table, before tucking the blankets under Iruka’s chin.

Iruka was watching him through slit eyes, exhaustion weighty on his eyelids. “Sleep, Iruka,” Kakashi murmured. Iruka blinked drowsily at him once and closed his eyes.

Kakashi left with Iruka’s whisper of thanks following him all the way to his apartment.

***

From his spot in his tree, Kakashi watched from the corner of his eye as Iruka whipped back an arm and released a piece of chalk without looking away from the chalkboard. The chalk hit a kid who’d been about to dangle something unsavory down the shirt of the boy in front of him right in the middle of his forehead with a painful smack. Iruka turned around, a dangerous smile on his face. Rubbing at his forehead, the kid must have said something insolent because Iruka’s smiling face quickly transformed as a pulsing rage took over, and, red-faced, he began to bellow with the full force of his impressive lungs.

Kakashi chuckled quietly into his book. It had been a couple of weeks since the Sandaime had died and only a little less since Naruto left with Jiraiya to search for Tsunade. Kakashi had worried that Naruto’s absence compounded with Sarutobi’s death would be too much for Iruka, but Iruka had handily proven him wrong.

Oh, he had grieved. Iruka only really had Naruto and Sarutobi as his family, after all, and that number was now halved permanently. He probably grieved even now, but Iruka had never been good at taking it easy. So, Kakashi had watched over him carefully, made sure that he was still taking the time to process, to figure out how to live without the man who’d taken him under his wing. Iruka had experience, though, in learning to make do without. Kakashi wished that Iruka didn’t, but such a wish was foolish in their world. And in all honesty, that experience was working out for the better, because the village desperately needed some semblance of normalcy, and there was nothing that reminded more of home than Iruka’s sound barrier-breaking roars ringing throughout the village at some pre-genin’s or jounin’s idiocy.

Just then, Iruka’s eyes cut through the window, straight to where Kakashi was sitting. _Whoops._ Iruka hated it when Kakashi read in the tree, said reading porn was inappropriate around children and that he was distracting. And right now, he _really_ looked like he hated it.

Iruka opened his mouth.

 _Time to go._ Kakashi flickered away from the Academy grounds, Iruka’s incensed scream chasing him all the way to one of the village’s main roads.

The sun had just reached its zenith in the sky, but the market had long since hit its stride as vendors and shopkeeps touted their wares out to potential customers. Kakashi strolled along, nose in his book, weaving between the villagers easily. He passed an unassuming teashop.

The hairs at the back of his neck rose.

Kakashi slowed his already lazy stroll into a crawl and surveyed the occupants of the teashop from the corner of his eye. Two men in long cloaks and wide-brimmed kasas sat at one of the middle tables, drinking tea.

Turning another page in his book, Kakashi held back a weary sigh. Looks like his day just got a little bit longer.

***

Iruka stood by Kakashi’s bedside. The sheets had been raised up over his nose in lieu of his mask. The hitai-ate sat on the bedside table, gleaming dully in the sunlight. Like this, stripped of his effects, white shrouding his already pale skin, Kakashi looked ghostly, translucent. Iruka wanted to place one of his daffodils in his hair, just to rid him of that ghostliness with a pop of color, to assure himself that it wouldn’t fall through to the mattress.

He didn’t. Sighing, he replaced the flowers in the vase on the windowsill, shiftlessly arranging them with the tips of his fingers.

The room was empty of other visitors, though that was an anomaly. There was usually a steady stream of visitors, mostly jounin, many times Gai and Sakura. There weren’t any gifts besides his flowers, but Iruka knew that was just because most people thought Kakashi didn’t really care for such gestures. Gai had brought a basket full of Kakashi’s Icha Icha volumes, though. Iruka smiled mirthlessly to himself. _Kakashi would never believe me if I told him how beloved he really is_.

The door slid open behind him. He turned away from the windowsill to see Sakura closing the door behind her, a single daffodil in hand. “Hello, Iruka-sensei.” She tried giving him a smile, but it quickly crumbled. Iruka felt for her—Sakura must be feeling terribly lonely, Sasuke and Kakashi trapped in their own minds, Naruto gone.

He gave her a gentle smile and opened his arm to her. Sakura immediately tucked herself against his side, arms around his waist, and they both gazed down at Kakashi’s still form.

A long moment passed before Sakura broke the silence. “Iruka-sensei,” she began, “they’ll be alright, won’t they? Naruto will bring back Tsunade, and she’ll fix them and Lee up, right?” For all her abject weariness, Sakura’s voice didn’t waver and rang out strong. She didn’t want reassurance, not really. Just someone to share in her faith.

Iruka rubbed her shoulder. “Yes, Sakura. I believe so, and you know how Naruto is—he won’t stop until he’s saved them. And you know that Kakashi and Sasuke are strong. They’ll get through this.” Iruka paused, stilled his hand on her shoulder.

Sakura looked up at him, question in her swollen eyes. “Sensei?”

“Sakura,” Iruka began, but then stopped, unsure if he should say this to her. He met her green eyes, which rippled softly like dewdrops. “Sakura,” he began again, voice firmer. “As strong as Kakashi and Sasuke are, they’re not invincible. You know this, you’ve seen it. And they will try to play it off as something lesser than it is.” He paused again. “Do you know the nature of the Sharingan’s Tsukuyomi?”

Sakura nodded slowly, lowering her gaze back to Kakashi. “I think so. It’s a doujutsu, right? One that traps the victim in an illusion of the user’s design and subjects them to days of torture in a matter of seconds.” Her voice became smaller and smaller as she spoke, until it was barely shy of a whisper. “That’s what they’re going through right now. But not for seconds.”

It wasn’t a question, but Iruka answered anyway. “Yes. When they wake up”—Iruka stressed the “when”—“they’re going to need you and Naruto. Remind them, Sakura, of the good in this world. And that it’s worth fighting for.”

Sakura nodded. Slowly, she unwound her arms from around his waist and pulled away from his embrace. Sakura stood straight and tall, purpose giving strength to her spine and her shoulders. Pride swelled in Iruka’s chest. Should Sakura ever find her place, she would grow to become a fearsome kunoichi.

“Thank you, Iruka-sensei.” Sakura turned to face him, eyes glinting like sea-glass in the sun. “I’ll do my best so I can stand side-by-side with Sasuke and Naruto.”

Iruka grinned. Yes, she will be fine. “I have no doubts that you’ll be able to.”

Sakura’s determined face turned mischievous. “Y’know, Iruka-sensei, it’d be a lot better if you helped out, too. I’ll probably be able to help Sasuke if I work with Naruto”—she gave a sly grin—“but I think Kakashi-sensei would appreciate it much more coming from you.”

Curse his expressive face. Iruka was sure he was as scarlet as a tomato, if the heat in his cheeks was anything to go by. “W-what do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, sensei!” Sakura laughed. “Everyone knows how much time you two have spending together, recently.”

Iruka made sure to keep his eyes directly on Sakura—he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle looking at Kakashi’s wan features just then. “We’re just friends, Sakura,” he said, sighing. “That’s all.” He smiled weakly.

Sakura didn’t look like she believed him. “Hm. Well, if you say so, sensei.” She gave one last look to Kakashi before walking to the door and sliding it open. “In any case, please continue to take care of him.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “He seems happier since you two became friends,” she said and walked out, closing the door behind her.

Iruka stared after her, and suddenly, he felt utterly exhausted. He trudged over to Kakashi’s bedside, pulled up a chair beside it, and slumped down into it. The pull of his shoulders as they hung low reminded him of Kakashi’s usual slouched posture, and a weak, fond chuckle crumbled out of his lips at the image.

He straightened his back and leaned over Kakashi’s thin frame, observed the crescent shadows beneath his eyes, the paper skin, the lank hair falling over his forehead. His fingers were brushing against Kakashi’s temple before he even knew it, the skin soft and thin under his fingertips. “Kakashi,” he breathed, evoked, and the tips of Kakashi’s hair moved with his breath. That little motion, the only one to pass through Kakashi’s body besides his breathing—which was so shallow Iruka had to check again and again to make sure his chest still rose—had Iruka shuddering under a sudden weight of despair.

He knew what he had said to Sakura, and he wasn’t lying when he told her that he believed that they would be okay. But there was still a splinter of doubt gouging into his mind that Kakashi would not wake up, and Iruka didn’t know if he could stand back up if he lost another person so close after the last one.

And it _hurt._ It hurt to know that Kakashi wasn’t just unconscious, knocked out of his mind because he’d been injured too deeply. It hurt to know that he was going through a torment that could break him, snap his tether to sanity. And it hurt to know that there was absolutely nothing Iruka could do, hurt until it had him cursing at his own weakness.

Slowly, Iruka bowed his head low, until his forehead rested lightly against Kakashi’s temple.

There was still warmth in his skin.

***

When Kakashi woke up and showed up at his door, Iruka didn’t rush to embrace him, much as he wanted to.

“Yo,” Kakashi said, giving him his two-finger wave. His eye wasn’t curved up, but it was soft, and Iruka could see, in the folds of his mask, a small, crooked smile.

“Yo,” he replied and smiled widely back.

***

Sasuke left. Sasuke left, Naruto went after him, Sakura wept, and Kakashi had to carry his two students back home, unconscious and hanging limply over his shoulders.

***

Iruka met him at the hospital. Sakura was sitting next to him, slumped against his shoulder. She had cried herself to sleep.

Kakashi watched the emotions play out over Iruka’s face, fear turning to anger turning to sorrow, as he approached them. He’d run here, apparently, and rather desperately too, if his heaving chest and sweat-beaded skin was anything to go by.

“Kakashi?”

Kakashi looked away at Iruka’s soft voice, the concern in it. How he must see him, the man to whom he’d entrusted his students, who was supposed to teach them, protect them, guide them—who had misled his students so horrendously that they’d almost killed each other.

“Kakashi?”

Iruka was crouched in front of him, looking up with such obvious concern that Kakashi wanted to shift Iruka’s hitai-ate down to cover his eyes, to save himself from the false hope that perhaps a small part of that concern was also for him. He swallowed instead and rasped, “They’re fine, Iruka.” The “physically” went unsaid.

Iruka dropped from his crouch down onto his knees, a sigh of relief gusting out of his chest. “Thank god. I’m so glad.” His head bowed low over his chest. “I’m so glad,” he repeated weakly. He turned his gaze up, shifted it towards Sakura’s sleeping form. “We should take her home. It can’t be good for her to sleep like that for too long.”

Kakashi only nodded, words shriveling up in his throat, glad to let someone else take charge—he didn’t think he had it in him to make any more decisions.

With Iruka’s help, they managed to move Sakura onto Kakashi’s back, arms slung over his shoulders while he gripped under her knees. She didn’t wake, something Kakashi was grateful for. Together, they left the hospital and walked to Sakura’s house in silence, where they turned her over into the care of her worried parents.

Kakashi pivoted on his heel, off to his apartment, where he planned to crumple over onto his mattress and sink for hours before finally heaving himself up and straggling away to the memorial stone. Iruka’s hand on his elbow stopped him before he could take a step.

He didn’t turn back around to face him. “What are you doing.” Any other time, any other circumstance, he would have cringed at how similar his voice sounded to back at Chuunin Exams. Now, though. Now, he was just too tired.

“I’m taking you back home with me.” If Iruka was offended by his tone, he couldn’t hear it. His voice was firm, demanding almost, but it was tempered with gentleness.

“Why.”

“Because you shouldn’t be alone right now, and what you’re off to do won’t help.”

“And what am I off to do?” he asked, a thread of irritation weaving through the question.

Iruka tugged on his arm, pulling Kakashi around to face him. “You’re going to go to your apartment, where you will wallow for hours on your mattress, call it sleep, and then drag yourself to the memorial stone, wallow for hours, and call it processing. No, you’re better off having tea with me.” Burnished eyes bore into his own, daring him to deny. “You need to get ahold of yourself, Kakashi. You can’t help them, otherwise.”

That killed any fight he had left in him. Of course, his students needed him still, which also meant that Iruka, for some reason, still trusted him with them. And really, if having tea with Iruka was all that he was asking of him, then that’s the least he could do.

Kakashi opened his mouth to—to agree, to comply, to say _anything—_ but what came out instead was a name on a heavy, weary sigh. “Iruka.”

“Kakashi,” Iruka returned his own name. It sounded almost unbearably soft, the harsh syllables of his name, coming from Iruka’s mouth. Iruka offered him a tiny smile, tired but genuine. “Come on. Let’s get you taken care of, yeah?”

“Okay.”

***

Iruka almost shoved Kakashi through his door in his haste to get him inside his apartment, get him warm. He held himself back, but his hands couldn’t help but hover over Kakashi’s back.

They toed off their sandals and stepped out of the genkan. Kakashi didn’t move to the kotatsu like he usually would. He seemed to understand that this wouldn’t be like one of their usual quiet stays. Iruka wasn’t sure if it made it any easier or not, but he pushed forward anyway.

He strode towards the bathroom, waving a hand back over his shoulder to get Kakashi to follow him. “Come on, you need to take a shower.”

He expected Kakashi to resist, to insist he didn’t need one. But Kakashi only nodded mutely and plodded after him with small, quiet footsteps.

Iruka stopped by the bathroom door and turned to face Kakashi. “Wait here, okay? I’m going to get you some of my clothes.” Kakashi dipped his head.

Iruka ignored the urge to grab Kakashi by the shoulders, to shake him until he finally showed him some emotion, some _will,_ but he only swallowed, whispered, “Okay,” and escaped to his bedroom.

He strode immediately over to his drawers and took in a deep breath to settle himself. Kakashi didn’t need him yelling right now. He needed to be calm and stable. Iruka pulled open the drawers, rifted through them until he found a worn pair of black sweatpants and the softest t-shirt he owned.

He walked back to the bathroom, gratified to see Kakashi still waiting there, and handed him the clothes. “Here. There are fresh towels on the rack, you can just use those after, ok?” He waited until Kakashi nodded to back away, trusting that his directions will be followed.

He’d just started making for the kitchen to make some tea when Kakashi’s voice drifted over to him from behind. “Are you only doing it for them?”

Iruka turned around, confusion tugging his mouth into a frown. “Doing what for who?”

“Naruto. Sasuke. Sakura.” Kakashi’s voice was slow and quiet, and he wouldn’t look at Iruka, choosing instead to train his eyes on the clothes he held in his arms. “Are you doing this”—he raised his arms, a small tired motion, gesturing to the clothes—“only for them.” It wasn’t a question, like Kakashi already knew the answer and just wanted to hear it for himself.

Iruka’s heart constricted painfully, twisting in on itself like it could hide from Kakashi’s quiet anguish. “Oh.” The little sound slipped out of his mouth. “Oh, no, Kakashi.” He walked back over to him, strides long in lieu of running, and held Kakashi’s arms. “No, I’m not, I— _Kakashi.”_ His hands began to rub up and down Kakashi’s arms, thumbs kneading just shy of too firm, wanting to get closer to him, wanting Kakashi to feel _him,_ impressed into his skin, always there and never leaving.

Kakashi still wouldn’t look at him.

“Kakashi,” Iruka beseeched, “look at me.” Kakashi didn’t raise his head. “Kakashi, _please._ ”

A fine tremor and a ragged exhale. Kakashi lifted his head.

Iruka felt his breath leave him, a shuddering exhale. It had been dark outside, before, so Iruka hadn’t been able to get a good look at him, but now, under the lights of his home… Kakashi met his eyes only for a second before casting them down again, and his shoulders hunched even further in on himself.

Kakashi looked utterly, miserably, _ashamed._

Of what, Iruka had a good idea about. He swallowed, the muscles in his throat working hard to keep down the torrent of affection, to flood over Kakashi and sweep away in its undertow every single bad thing Kakashi’s ever felt, because he couldn’t risk overwhelming Kakashi, make him isolate within himself. It hurt, though. It hurt, keeping it down, because it had nowhere to release, so it swelled up against his rib cage, crushed his heart under its weight.

“No, Kakashi,” he spoke softly. “I am not. And that’s true of our entire friendship thus far. Don’t you know that I care for your happiness as much as theirs? Don’t you know how important you’ve become to me?”

Kakashi didn’t speak for a long moment, and when he did, all he said was, “I see.” He swayed away from Iruka back into the bathroom. “I’ll go take that shower now.”

Iruka lowered his hands back down to his sides, where they hung empty and bereft. He stretched his fingers out, then released, then stretched again. “Okay. I’ll have tea ready, so don’t take too long, alright?”

Kakashi nodded and closed the door.

It was a long while before Iruka could unstick himself from the floor and head off towards the kitchen.

***

When Kakashi came out, Iruka could tell that he had something he wanted to say.

While he’d waited for Kakashi to come out, Iruka had made tea, using one of his more expensive teabags, and then settled down at the kotatsu to grade—anything really, to keep his hands busy and his mind occupied. But now that Kakashi was out, every bit of his being was drawn to focus on him and only him, an electromagnetic force pulling all of his atoms towards Kakashi’s own.

Iruka cast an eye over him. Kakashi’s wet hair flopped over his forehead and closed eye. Iruka’s shirt hung off his shoulders, Kakashi’s frame a bit narrower, but it fit. He looked exhausted.

Kakashi stood at the threshold of the living room, just staring at Iruka with a soft determination in his eye. Iruka stood up, getting ready to coax him into the room and down at the kotatsu like he had after Wave, but he froze when Kakashi starting trudging forward. He sunk down at his spot beside Iruka, legs collapsing under him, and bowed his head over his lap. A bead of water rolled down the nape of Kakashi’s neck, down into the back of his shirt. Kakashi shivered.

That knocked Iruka out of his slight stupor. He grabbed a plush throw blanket from the arm of the couch and draped it over Kakashi’s shoulders. Kakashi tipped his head back, eye wide even as his hands crossed over themselves to tug the blanket tighter over his shoulders. And he looked so small, so soft, fine-spun for all his strength, gauzy for all his inscrutability, that, unthinking, Iruka reached forward and gently ran a hand through Kakashi’s damp hair to feel for himself if he was shatterable as he looked, whether his touch would undo him, and ruffled it slightly before withdrawing and sitting down.

It was only after he’d picked up his red pen when he realized what he’d done. His hand seized around his pen. That was a gesture that had been far too intimate, far too knowing, to have been appropriate. But Iruka relaxed his hand and went about grading like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Kakashi.

Kakashi looked as if a whole new world had just been opened up to him, and Iruka felt his heart break a little. That this might have been one of the few times someone had ever ruffled Kakashi’s hair… It was too sad to bear thinking about.

Whatever Kakashi had wanted to say, it seemed Iruka would have to wait a bit before Kakashi could gather himself together enough to tell him. That was fine. Iruka could wait. He went back to his grading, pouring out a cup of tea for himself and Kakashi first.

Iruka was deep into trying to decode one of his student’s answers when Kakashi’s fingers alighted on the inside of Iruka’s wrist. His pulsed jumped. Iruka immediately put the pen down, relaxed his muscles to let Kakashi do whatever he wished. His eyes followed the pale fingers up to Kakashi’s face.

Kakashi was watching his hand map out Iruka’s skin with an intense focus. His hand trailed up along Iruka’s arm from the inside of his wrist, lacing hesitant curiosity and a pleasant heat into his skin, barely any pressure from his fingertips. When he spoke, he was still watching his fingers, still so fixated that his voice came out absent-minded. “Why don’t you hate me?”

Iruka started. “What?” He placed his hand over Kakashi’s, stopping its ascent at the crook of his elbow. “Kakashi, what?”

“Why don’t you—”

“No!” Iruka interrupted, a note of hysteria escaping into his voice. “I mean, _why_ are you asking that? How could I ever hate you?”

“Naruto and Sasuke almost died because of me.” The calmness with which he said that, impassive and painstakingly objective, like it was as obvious as fact, and therefore only logical that Iruka would hate him, had Iruka wanting to scream.

He tightened his grip on Kakashi’s hand instead. Underneath the sobriety, the serene logicality, was a heartrending insecurity. Iruka had only been half-joking about the carried-over quirks of jounin—it wasn’t sometimes the only thing that carried over from childhood. From watching his students, he knew how insecurity made children react, defensive and on-guard, so he would be gentle with Kakashi as he was with them.

“Kakashi,” he said. “You know I love teaching, yes?”

Kakashi dipped his head.

“Then understand, Kakashi, that I love teaching even when I know that some of my students will die.”

Kakashi froze.

Iruka continued, tightening his grip on Kakashi’s fingers even further. “Even when I know that they’ll become missing-nin. And I’ll love _them_ throughout, nonetheless.”

Kakashi’s eye flashed up to his, steel-gray boring into his own. It was a quieter experience than Iruka thought it would be, to have every iota of the Copy-nin’s focus on him. It was akin to being stuck in the moment of drawing a shivering breath, utterly caught, unable to do anything else, let alone exhale.

Kakashi was waiting, Iruka realized, waiting for him to continue speaking. What exactly Kakashi was waiting to hear, Iruka didn’t know. But with how intensely Kakashi was still looking at him, Iruka knew that Kakashi would wait forever if he had to. That quiet desperation gave him the words to answer. Kakashi had trained teams before, ANBU operatives. But there was something very different when that team was comprised of such potent vulnerability.

“I know what I teach, Kakashi,” he began, “I know _why_ I’m teaching what I teach. No matter how well I prepare them, no matter how many hours I extend to keep working with them, it is inevitable, just as it’s inevitable that I will end up loving them through it.” Iruka lowered his gaze to somewhere between Kakashi’s chin and collar bone. “That’s what it means, I think, to be a teacher of any worth. They will carve their own paths, in the end, no matter what you do. And you’ll love them through it, as they fight and die, for us or against us.” He met Kakashi’s eyes again. “They will need you, you know, to help them through whatever may happen.”

“What if I can’t?”

Iruka smiled sadly. “You have no other choice. You must.”

Kakashi bowed his head, his chest caving in as a ragged sigh poured out of his lungs, through his mouth.

Iruka imagined it pooling against his mask, unable to seep through the weave, suffocating him in its utter weariness.

Slowly, Kakashi began to tilt forward. Iruka watched with a slight wariness as Kakashi’s head drew nearer and nearer to his, not knowing what Kakashi was doing but not moving away nonetheless. Closer and closer, until, Iruka’s heartrate ratcheting up a couple hundred notches, Kakashi’s forehead alighted on his shoulder, a bare pressure at the junction between it and his neck.

Iruka swallowed.

Kakashi hadn’t let himself relax against him, his body thrumming with tension, the tight lines visible even under the blanket because Kakashi was shaking. Quakes trembled under the glass of his skin, shifting tectonic plates grinding at every hairline fracture and gaping fault line mapped onto his body, threatening to rend him apart, rupture at the seams.

Hesitantly—gently, always gently—Iruka removed Kakashi’s hand from his arm, holding it in his other. The freed arm, he maneuvered it out from between their bodies and cradled Kakashi’s shoulders.

Kakashi sank. All at once, the tension released, the tectonic shifts halted, and he slumped his whole weight against Iruka. A wiry arm wound itself around Iruka’s back, around his waist, as he burrowed further into Iruka’s neck.

“Oh,” Iruka sighed, “Oh, Kakashi.” At the sound of his name, Kakashi’s arm tightened around his waist, pulled Iruka further against him. Iruka squeezed his arm around Kakashi’s shoulders, around Kakashi’s hand, in reciprocation, trying to hold him together. “Do you understand, now? It’s not your fault. Never your fault,” he crooned. “You tried so hard with them. I know you did—didn’t you come to me for help? Didn’t you come with their betterment in mind first, always?”

He pressed his lips against Kakashi’s hair, spoke against it, “It’s not your fault. How could I _ever_ hate you?”

Kakashi didn’t speak, just wound his other arm around Iruka’s waist. Iruka didn’t say anything more either. They sat together quietly, only Kakashi’s ragged breathing breaking the silence, gasping like he’d emerged after years from under an ocean’s vortex.

They stayed there for a little longer, Iruka’s palm stroking a solid line up and down Kakashi’s back, soothing.

They held each other until sleep began to pull at Iruka’s eyelids, and he rested his cheek against Kakashi’s hair.

They laid together under the kotatsu, Kakashi sprawled over Iruka’s chest, head still tucked into Iruka’s neck, breathing soft and steady.

And they slept.

***

Kakashi woke swaddled in warmth. Strong arms encircled him around his back, thick bands of pleasant heat. A line of warmth ran all along his front as Iruka cradled him to his chest, and Kakashi’s nose was warm from where he’d kept it tucked under Iruka’s chin. His own arms, he realized, were pressed up against Iruka’s chest, fists clenched in his shirt, holding him close just as much Iruka was.

He pulled back, just a little to keep within Iruka’s hold, just enough to be able to see Iruka’s face. In sleep, Iruka’s face was devoid of most of the furrows and wrinkles his emotions so readily expressed. But there remained still slight smile lines and tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

 _It’s not your fault. How could I_ ever _hate you?_

So sure, so confident, in his belief in Kakashi to the point of incredulity at thought of hating him. Like Kakashi was incapable of purposefully causing harm. Like Kakashi hadn’t murdered men in their beds, scythed short lives barely grown, stomped down on embers still pitifully spitting sparks without a second’s hesitation, all in his loyalty to Konoha.

Absentmindedly, Kakashi unclenched his hand from Iruka’s shirt, raised it up between their bodies to lightly run his fingers over Iruka’s scar.

He’d thought Iruka would blame him. Accuse him of being neglectful.

_You tried so hard with them. I know you did—didn’t you come to me for help? Didn’t you come with their betterment in mind first, always?_

Iruka’s nose twitched. Kakashi stopped his fingers in their tracks, still resting them against Iruka’s skin. Iruka settled back down, arms squeezing around Kakashi before releasing, at peace.

_They will carve their own paths, in the end, no matter what you do. And you’ll love them through it, as they fight and die, for us or against us._

Iruka, who gave up the students he so dearly loved to a life that killed them. Iruka, who understood.

How could he be so strong?

Iruka stirred, brows furrowing, eyelids squeezing, trying to keep the sleep in his eyes. A quick inhale, a long exhale through his nose, and Iruka’s umber eyes peeked out at him from behind heavy lids, glazed with torpor. Sunlight poured through the slats of the window blinds behind Kakashi, throwing into relief the golden flecks in Iruka’s eyes. Iruka squinted, blinking slowly, once, twice, until he could hold his gaze steady on Kakashi. At the sight of him, Iruka broke out into a sleepy grin.

Kakashi’s breath caught.

Iruka was beautiful. A sunflower, tall and bright, even in the snow.

“Kakashi,” he mumbled.

Kakashi didn’t reply—couldn’t, arrested under Iruka’s gaze. Had anyone ever looked at him like that? Had anyone’s first reaction to the sight of him been a smile, soft and sweet, subconscious and instinctive?

When Kakashi stayed silent, Iruka’s brows furrowed and tilted up. He rose slightly onto his elbow, keeping it tucked around under Kakashi so that he hovered above him. Kakashi followed his movement onto his back and looked up at Iruka. Iruka’s other hand came up to lightly brush at the fringe over Kakashi’s forehead. “Kakashi?” Iruka murmured.

Kakashi reached up, splayed his fingers against Iruka’s temple, brought his thumb down in between Iruka’s eyebrows and smoothed the furrow there. Iruka’s cheeks warmed at the gesture, but he was smiling also. It grew smaller, though, as he continued to gaze down at Kakashi. “Kakashi?” Iruka asked. “Are you alright?”

_Don’t you know I care for your happiness as much as theirs? Don’t you know how important you’ve become to me?_

“Yeah, Iruka.” Kakashi smiled. “I’m alright.”

Iruka gave him a sunflower smile.

***

Later, he would tell Iruka that he cared for his happiness as well. That Iruka had become just as important to him, too. Later, he would stumble back a step as Iruka jumped in his arms to embrace him. Later.

Right now, though, he had three cute students to take care of, to hold together until they could hold themselves.

When Kakashi arrived at the hospital, Sakura in tow, it was to find Naruto and Sasuke already awake, in the same room, and getting on together like they always had, like they’d never even left off. There was, however, an understanding, a quiet knowing, weaved into their words, that had now turned their arguments into companionable bickering and banter.

Kakashi gave Sakura full license to shout at Naruto and Sasuke, which she took advantage of immediately. The sound of her screams will echo in his ears for days, but Naruto and Sasuke’s sober and sincere apology will linger forever.

As will their loud displeasure at his tardiness for their first meetup after the whole fiasco. Kakashi didn’t think he’d ever be so happy to get screeched and glared at by three brats, but he welcomed it with open arms.

They ended up not being together for very long, what with Naruto going off with Jiraiya, Sakura apprenticing under Tsunade, and Sasuke staying with him, but that was okay. They were good.

***

They were in one of the parks near Konoha’s main road, underneath an old sakura tree, Kakashi’s head in Iruka’s lap, Iruka’s hand in his hair. Lights from the festival stalls blinked in the distance, their warm gold a lovely contrast against the moonlight sifting through the cherry blossoms. Even from there, they could hear the raucous sound of Naruto’s laughter and Sakura’s ringing scolding. And though they couldn’t hear him, Kakashi knew Sasuke was there with them, wearing that little smirk he passed off as a smile.

A soft breeze blew through them, whisking the pale-pink petals into flurries and eddies around them. A flower landed in Iruka’s hair. Kakashi reached up and plucked it away, held it gently between his fingers in front of Iruka to show him. Smiling, Iruka made to take it but another wind, stronger than the last, blew it away into another maelstrom of petals. A soft sound of surprise fell from his lips. “Well,” he said, following the flower’s path with his eyes, “there it goes.”

“Oh, well. Cherry blossoms don’t suit you, anyway.”

Iruka grinned down at him, eyes gleaming. His hair, open for the festival, cascaded down over his shoulder, the ends brushing Kakashi’s forehead. “Oh, really? Then what does?”

Kakashi hummed. “Sunflowers.”

Iruka’s eyes widened—Iruka obviously hadn’t expected such a quick answer, a fact that Kakashi felt a little satisfied at—before he huffed in amusement, pink dusting across his scar. “Sunflowers?”

“Mhmm.” Kakashi closed his eye, made a show of sleepy boredom.

“You gonna tell me why?”

Eyes still closed, Kakashi held his chin between two fingers and tilted his head back against Iruka’s lap, feigning deep thought. “No.”

Iruka flicked him on the nose.

“Hey!” Kakashi squinted up at him. “Rude.”

Smirking, Iruka took hold of his nose between his forefinger and thumb and wiggled it.

Kakashi batted at his hand. “Iruka!” he whined. Catching Iruka’s hand, he pressed it into his chest, keeping his grip tight around it to make sure it would stay, and pouted. “That was very mean and uncalled for.”

Iruka threw his head back and laughed, giving Kakashi a view of the underside of his jaw, the slight glimpse of skin peeking out from his moss-green and yellow yukata as his chest shook in laughter. Tilting his head back down, Iruka smiled widely, eyes crinkled up. “No, I don’t think it was. After all, you just said I was suited to a weed.”

Well. That was certainly one way to look at it, though not in one Kakashi ever thought to. He curved his eye with his smile. “Maa, don’t take it the wrong way, Iruka. It just means you’re resilient.”

Iruka snorted. “Nice save.”

Kakashi looked to see what expression Iruka was wearing. Iruka’s face was wry, a dry disbelief writ over his features. He wasn’t looking at Kakashi, eyes averted to some point in the grass. Kakashi frowned. “What? You are.”

A small smile graced his face, but it wasn’t like the ones Kakashi was used to. This one had a bit too strong of an air of polite acquiescence. Brown eyes flashed to his for brief moment before darting away to the grass again. “Thank you,” Iruka said, his tone matching his smile.

“Hey, now.” Kakashi heaved himself up, leaning on one palm on the ground, across Iruka’s lap. “I meant it, you know.” Kakashi tucked a lock of hair behind Iruka’s ear. “You’ve always reminded me of sunflowers,” he said quietly.

Kakashi watched as shock slowly washed over Iruka’s face: eyes drifting to meet his, gradually widening, lips falling slack. Heat bit furiously at Iruka’s cheeks then, across the bridge nose, his scar standing out in pale contrast.

He looked lovely.

Iruka’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Is that so?” he whispered.

Kakashi hummed. “Do you remember,” he began slowly, eyes trained on his fingers as they stroked along the lock of hair, “that first dinner we ever had together? We were turning in a mission report. Naruto was begging you for ramen, but you offered to cook dinner for him, instead. Before we all left, you turned around and asked if I wanted to come over too.” The lock of hair fell away from his fingers as they reached the end, down by Iruka’s collar bones. Kakashi rested them there lightly, feeling the warmth and softness of Iruka’s skin against the back of his knuckles, before they meandered up, tracing the side of Iruka’s neck, the line of his jaw. “I never did figure out why you invited me that night.” Kakashi looked up at Iruka. “I’m just glad you did.”

Iruka met his gaze steadily. “I am, too.”

Kakashi dropped his eye first, back down to his fingers on Iruka’s skin as they swept over the swell of his cheek. “We were still deciding on what to cook. I think I said you’d done a good job with Naruto. The way you smiled at me…”

His thumb traced down to Iruka’s parted mouth, where it lingered at the corner. “Big and bright and endless. Like a field of sunflowers. You looked radiant, Iruka.”

“Kakashi,” Iruka whispered, awed. He breathed once deeply, breath shaking in the air, steadying himself. _Resilient,_ Kakashi thought fondly. “In all honesty, at first I invited you just to be polite.” Iruka grabbed Kakashi’s wrist, leaning forward with earnest eyes. “Only at first! But you looked so shocked, Kakashi, and I really just wanted to feed you. And after, I had such a good time; of course, I wanted to see you again.” Iruka paused. “Why did you say yes?”

“Now that we really never will know.” Kakashi raised his eye from Iruka’s mouth to his eyes, huge and luminous in the moonlight. “And it took a long time to figure out why I kept coming back, but I did.”

Iruka’s grip loosened, slid up to cup the back of his hand. “And why’s that?”

Now, Kakashi paused. Just for a moment, just to take in the novelty of a fluttering heart, a swooping stomach, the significance of such a choice, sitting in front of him, waiting patiently.

“Y’know, I ended up looking into whether sunflowers carried any symbolism. Turns out, they mean unconditional faith, unconditional love. Much like you, really, in more than one way.” At Iruka’s dazed look, Kakashi couldn’t help but smile fondly. “Maa, Iruka, can’t you guess?” Kakashi asked. “It’s because I love you.”

Iruka kissed him.

Over the mask, hands flying to hold his face, Iruka pressed his lips over Kakashi’s. Kakashi couldn’t yank the mask down to his chin fast enough, remove that one last barrier between them, but when he did—oh god, when he did—nothing had ever felt so perfect. Iruka’s lips were soft and generous and they gave as much as they took, and Kakashi could hardly breathe for the wave of warmth and utter adoration surging in his chest, cresting higher and higher until it poured through every pore and washed up softly against Iruka. He surged up against him, cupped his hand around Iruka’s nape, wove his fingers through his hair, and gave and took and gave and took until they absolutely had to part.

“I love you, too,” Iruka gasped the second his lips left his, eyes dark. “I love you, too, Kakashi, _Kakashi.”_

“Iruka,” Kakashi breathed and nuzzled against Iruka’s cheek, traced the tip of his nose along his skin, up to his temple, where he imprinted a kiss. “My sunflower.”

Kakashi felt Iruka chuckle where he’d burrowed against his throat. “God, that’s so cheesy.”

“Maa.” Kakashi tilted his head down, laid his forehead where his lips had just been, to look at Iruka. Sweet eyes met his, regarded him with something ablaze behind their moonlit surface. “I like it, though. And I’m pretty sure you like it, too.”

Iruka’s thumb stroked over his bare cheek, slow and deliberate. “I do,” he said, “And there are worse names.”

“Do you have one for me?”

“Hah?” Iruka leaned back a little, brow raised. “You want a pet name?”

He hadn’t, not really, but now, in the face of Iruka’s bewilderment… “Well, it’s only fair, don’t you think?”

“Um…” Iruka’s eyes darted here and there around the park as he thought before glancing up at him from under his lashes, seemingly embarrassed before he even gave his answer. “Moonflower?”

Kakashi stared. “Iruka.”

Iruka groaned and his face against Kakashi’s shoulder. “I know. Don’t say it.”

Kakashi said it. “That’s so unoriginal,”—he quickly had to wrap his arms around Iruka tightly to keep him from thrashing him—"not inspired at all. Are moonflowers even a thing?”

Iruka paused in his struggle. “I don’t know?”

Kakashi sighed mournfully. “That’s so cruel. I came up with a great term of endearment, had reasons behind it and everything, and yet you can’t even return the same courtesy. I see how this whole relationship is going to play out.”

Iruka laughed. “Yes, if you knew what was better for you, you’d turn tail and run away.” Sighing happily, Iruka ran the back of his knuckles against Kakashi’s cheek. “I’m sorry I can’t give you a name as well-thought as yours, but in my defense, you actually had time to think about it. Maybe I’ll be able to come up with something later. In the meantime, however,” Iruka said, looping his arms over Kakashi’s shoulders, “there exist a number of endearments, tried and true, if you don’t mind clichés.”

“Oh?” Kakashi asked, wrapping his arm around Iruka’s waist. “And what might those be?”

Iruka’s gaze became heavy-lidded, and Kakashi was not at all prepared for the way Iruka's voice lowered, rumbling out of his chest, as he purred, “Sweetheart.”

Kakashi’s pinked cheeks seemed to be something Iruka utterly delighted in, because he continued mercilessly, in that same low voice. “Darling. Dearest. Inamorato.”

Iruka leaned closer and closer with each word, bypassing Kakashi’s lips to reach his ear. “Beloved,” he breathed out, the pushed air traveling through and lingering against the whorls of his ear even when the air had stopped vibrating with Iruka’s voice, and Kakashi’s skin broke out into goosebumps even as it blushed a blazing red that would match Iruka at his angriest at the Mission Desk.

“Wow, you really liked that one, huh.” Iruka’s voice, now at his usual pitch, broke him out of his trance. His thumbs swept over his red cheeks, like he was trying to gather the color there on his fingertips. “God, look at the blush on you. Can’t take what you dish, huh.”

“Oh my god,” Kakashi whispered and sank back down into Iruka’s lap, winding his arms around Iruka’s waist and hiding his face in his stomach. He felt more than he heard Iruka’s laughter, shaking against him.

A kiss dropped on his head before fingers wove through his hair. “God, you adorable man,” Iruka muttered. “You’re going to be the death of me.” Kakashi just burrowed in closer. “Dearling, beloved, _Kakashi_ ,” and Kakashi’s heart had never felt fuller, never felt lighter.

**Author's Note:**

> i cannot believe that i have come back to this fandom, and not only did i came back, i fucking contributed. i told myself i was done. Naruto ended, and it was a bit disappointing tbh. I thought I had washed my hands of it. But no. This ship hit me like the fucking black pearl, holy shit. I don't even remember where I first knew of it, but here I am, five years later, publishing my second fanfic ever. fuckin hell, y'all
> 
> anywho, i hope you all enjoyed. any kudos and comment would be greatly appreciated. Oh, and moonflowers are apparently a real thing. Think morning glories, but white and they only bloom at night. Their meaning is apparently pretty spiritual.
> 
> Title is from Two by Sleeping At Last. Very good song, 10/10 would recommend


End file.
